The Runaways
by SpiderSilkTales
Summary: Five brothers are on the run... from their father. Follow them as they face modern-day troubles and struggle through social conflicts. Human AU. France, England, Canada, America, and Sealand.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, my name is SpiderSilkTales! I used to write stories about Transformers, but I switched my interests. Please enjoy my story!_

**Chapter** **1**

Arthur was startled awake by the sound of crashing glass. He sat up straight as a nail and glanced in a circle around his bed. If he had to guess, he'd say that it was around three o'clock in the morning, judging from the level of darkness. He saw four identically blonde heads pop up around him.

On his direct left, Francis sighed. "It is just Papa, arriving home. Go back to sleep, _mes tout-petits_," he muttered, before flopping down onto the worn pillow, which lay on the queen-sized bed they shared. At eighteen, he was two years Arthur's superior, but was far less mature. His handsome features and long, luscious hair brought him many opportunities for a love life, and he was all for it.

Arthur sometimes felt a little helpless. He was Francis's opposite: their only similarity was their father and their hair color. Arthur's hair was often gelled into place, as a short bowl-ish cut. His emerald green eyes and bushy eyebrows set him apart from the rest of his brothers, whom had blue eyes. Girls never were easy for Arthur to talk to, especially with his bookish and tempered personality.

"Dada?" Peter curled himself deeper into the thin blankets on his mattress, which lay nearly underneath Arthur's bed frame. His chubby face and short stature gave away his youth: a boy not much older than three years. Short, fluffy blonde hair framed his face.

Arthur rubbed the boy's back from his spot on the bed and felt muscles loosen. "Don't make noises; wait 'till he calms down."

"Will he calm down tonight?"

"Will he really, honestly, Arthur?"

Two small voices chimed from the opposite corner of the tiny room. Both five year old boys had squeezed themselves together on a twin-sized mattress, also on the dusty floor. As twins, they looked nearly identical in the darkness, except for hair styles. The elder twin, Matthew (who had a strange purplish-blue eye color), had recently grown out his hair like Francis's in an effort to distinguish himself from his younger, louder twin. Needless to say, Matthew was very shy and soft-spoken. His twin could not be more of an opposite. Alfred was obsessed with superheroes and had endless energy. His eyes were sky blue and his sunshine blonde hair showed a cowlick that absolutely refused to stay put.

Arthur did not know how to answer that question, so he bluntly said, "Francis is correct, please get back to sleep." He heard grumbles, but the faint moonlight showed that they were cuddled back underneath their sleeping bag. Peter's breaths had long ago slowed and steadied, and the twins were quick to follow.

"Arthur?" Francis whispered beside him.

"Hmm?" Arthur already knew what Francis was going to say.

"You ready for this?"

Arthur hesitated. _No_, he thought, but it didn't come out right. "Yes."

Arthur faced his second rude awakening that day when their bedroom door slammed open. He quickly jumped out of bed and stood at its side, avoiding the eyes of their intruder.

"You runts better be spotless by the time we have to leave!"

Arthur slowly turned his head and looked at the man who shouted. It was their father. He was a very handsome man, but his personality was positively horrid. His blonde hair, hazel eyes, and tanned skin tended to leave a positive impression on anyone but his sons.

He turned to leave and was nearly out the door when a noise pierced the air.

A grumbling stomach.

Arthur didn't need the cry of pain to know that it was Alfred's stomach, and that their father had slugged him in the origin of the sound.

"Ungrateful rats. I fed you last night, didn't I?" Arthur was inclined to blurt out 'no!' but held his ground for the children's sakes. The man stalked out of the room and there was no sound for a few moments. Alfred broke it once again with a quiet sob. No one acknowledged it.

They simply began to make their beds and file into the small bathroom that sat adjacent to their room.

A short cycle started. Francis would shower first (in their shower/tub combo) while Arthur helped the younger boys set their outfits in piles. As Arthur showered, Francis and the young ones would brush teeth. Then all three kids would be bathed with the combined efforts of Arthur and Francis. Then hair would be combed and outfits pulled on.

As Arthur helped little Peter into his outfit, he began his daily ritual of "thinking". He thought of other teenagers with normal lives. He thought of someday learning to drive. He told himself that he did _not _think of girls. And he thought of his family.

Francis, as the firstborn, knew how to drive. His mother had been an absolutely gorgeous French woman. She taught Francis how to speak French before English, the latter of which he had refused to speak until he was around six years old. That woman had left.

Arthur's mother was a quiet British woman. She insisted that Arthur had her "superior" accent and that he acted smartly. She also left.

Alfred and Matthew's mother had never wanted children. She was a Canadian businesswoman who lived in the USA and resented the idea of raising four boys, especially since two were twins. She pushed them away and left. Arthur taught Alfred to speak (but the boy picked up his father's American accent) and Francis taught Matthew to speak primarily English (with a Canadian accent, from his mother), but also made sure that the little boy was fluent in French.

Peter's mother had been the sweetest woman any of them had ever met. She was also British, and allowed Arthur to teach Peter how to speak. She had just recently gone missing about five months ago. No one had heard of her since then.

They were boys from different mothers, but the same terrifying father. And their father was marrying again today.

That was why they were dressed so smartly: Francis and Arthur in black suits with blue ties, Alfred, Matthew, and Peter in crisp white collared shirts, black shorts, and suspenders.

Francis finished tying Peter's shoelaces just as a horn honked outside. They hurried down the stairs and through the front door. After piling into their old five-person minivan (Francis in shotgun seat with Peter in his lap, Arthur in the center seat in back, and the twins surrounding him) the car pulled off.

The ceremony was a drag. The bride looked beautiful, but the look in her eyes said that all she wanted was the money. Arthur almost laughed. They had no money, that's why their father was doing this.

During the party, Francis made his way to Arthur's side.

They mingled for a few moments, watching their brothers. Matthew and Alfred were attacking the food table, Peter standing nearby. The elder boys appeared casual, but their eyes darted back and forth, alert. After a minute or two, they looked at each other.

"Now?" Arthur whispered.

"Now." Francis said unhesitatingly.

Francis scooped up Matthew and Alfred from the floor and dragged them to the door. They did not fight. Arthur threw Peter on his back and ran behind. They made their way through the winding hallways of the church and burst through the front doors.

Arthur breathed in the fresh air. Their father was screaming somewhere behind them, but Arthur paid no attention. He found himself smiling.

Francis pulled out the car keys he had stolen from the men's dressing room. He unlocked the minivan quickly. They piled in and Francis pulled away from the parking lot.

Arthur stole a glance in his rearview mirror. A crowd of people barricaded out of the doors to the church. Their father met his eyes and glared. Arthur allowed himself a moment of childishness and stuck out his tongue at the reflection.

They rounded a corner and could no longer see the tip of the church's bell tower.

Alfred and Matthew slowly pulled out masses of food from the ceremony while Peter revealed about eight plastic water bottles. Arthur reached into the middle compartment of the van and pulled out a Tupperware box, which already held about two dozen granola bars from their pantry.

Arthur put away the supplies. Francis sighed, "Well, _mes garçons_, we did it."

"Yes," Arthur smiled. "We did."


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello again! I'm so happy with the reception that Chapter One received! Well enjoy this next chapter (it's a bit short). Please review, I was a little let down with the amount of reviews I got! You will be mentioned in the next chapter if you do..._

**Chapter 2**

Arthur's heart was still beating too quickly. The tiny clock had been keeping him busy for the past hour- he had watched the second hand tick by, as the hour hand moved from the six to the eleven. He looked over to Francis; upon further examination, the elder boy's hands were clamped around the wheel. No, now they were relaxed. Clamped again. His strong jaw clenched each time his hands clutched the steering wheel.

The British teen looked away. He stared at the small mirror above his head, which was aimed towards the back of the minivan. Peter was asleep between Matthew and Alfred, whom were engaged in a quiet (in Matthew's case) game of "I Spy".

Alfred took a turn. "I spy with my little eye… ummm… something… blue?"

"The sky?" Matthew guessed. His brother made an annoyed sound.

"Actually, something yellow."

"You can't do that!" Matthew protested.

"So you don't know?" Alfred countered.

Matthew grumbled, but said, "The lines on the road?"

"Yeah." Alfred smiled. "Your turn."

"Um, I spy with my little eye, something red, white, and blue-"

"CAPTAIN AMERICA? WHERE?!" Alfred yelled, rolling down his window and sticking his head out.

Peter jumped awake. He was startled, so he began to scream and cry. The wind had whipped Kumajiro, Matthew's stuffed polar bear, out of the little boy's arms and onto the road. He promptly started crying as well. Once Alfred realized that Matthew had not seen Captain America after all, he became angry.

"You lied, Mattie! There's no Captain America out there!"

"Kumalajoo is gone! He's gone forever!"

"WAAAAAAH! ARFURRRRR!"

During all of this, Arthur and Francis had snapped out of their trances and looked back. Arthur quickly reached his hand out to Peter, who grabbed it and cried into it. Francis tried to pat Matthew's head, but only succeeded in swerving the van. He ended up pulling over to the side of the road. Immediately he unlocked the doors. He pulled Matthew out of his seat and set him on the ground before running off down the road. Alfred jumped out and Arthur picked up Peter.

The younger twin turned to his crying brother. But Matthew was on the ground, shaking. Alfred suddenly forgot about Captain America and knelt down beside his brother. He patted Matthew's head softly.

"Sorry 'bout your bear, bro…"

Matthew did not answer. By then, Peter had calmed down significantly in Arthur's arms. Arthur sat down right there on the side of the rural road. Alfred looked at him, and back at his twin, before deciding to pull on Matthew's arm until he moved. The two walked up to Arthur and sat next to him.

Seven minutes later, Francis could be seen huffing and puffing up to them. In his arms was a dirtied Kumajiro. He stopped next to them and plopped the bear in Matthew's lap before collapsing on the ground. His chest heaved heavily with breaths.

Matthew immediately dried his tears. "Kumalee! Oh, Francis, you found him! I missed you!" He hugged his bear tightly.

Arthur turned to his older brother. "Francis?" He earned a nod in reply. "I think we're all too tired to continue on today… what do you say we turn in for the night?"

Francis sat up and nodded again. He pulled Matthew onto his hip and walked to the van. Arthur followed with a sleeping Peter. Alfred placed his hand in Arthur's. The two eldest boys flipped the back seats down and laid the boys on the expanse of carpeted foam. Alfred climbed in on his own. Arthur sat in the passenger seat and manually tilted his and Francis's seats back. Moments later, after Francis had kissed the boys on their forheads and shut the trunk door, the French boy sat in the driver's seat.

Arthur noticed that, as all five boys began to fall asleep, he had not heard one boy ask for food.


	3. Chapter 3

_Ah! Thank you so much to the people who reviewed! I love the comments… they help me stay on track! _

_Thanks to: Sora Resi ~ Big Eater Queen ~ Kgelschreibert ~ sweetoreo33_

**Chapter 3**

Arthur awoke when he felt a chill. His arms and legs already showed goosebumps, and he rubbed his hands over the expanse of his upper arms to make the blood flow faster. He let out a breath and saw it puffing out like smoke. He looked out the windshield at the sky, which was dark, but light at the same time. The small clock said four o'clock in the morning.

He looked behind at the back of the van and sighed. The trunk was wide open, rendering the entire back of the van open. Arthur sighed when he saw the twins lying on their stomachs, chins propped up on their hands, squished together like sausages. He saw Peter shivering in his sleep next to them and was about to shout to cover themselves up when he heard their conversation.

"-and I don't ever wanna go home."

"But Alfred, what if we never find a real home?"

"I don't care! Dad was the meanest man alive!"

"Shh. We don't want to wake up Francis."

"Or Arthur," Alfred added as he turned around to check on his older siblings. Arthur feigned being asleep and opened his eyes once the conversation continued.

"I think we'll find a home. Maybe not now, or this month, or this year, but I think we will."

"Okay, I belie-"

"And if not, I'll use my superpowers to save us!"

Matthew giggled at that, and Arthur found himself smiling.

Matthew shrugged. "Okay." He rubbed behind Kumajirou's left ear.

The little ones sat in silence for a moment. Arthur heard Francis rustling around and looked over, seeing his older brother's blue eyes open slightly. The French boy's mouth moved to speak but Arthur placed a finger to his lips. He gestured towards the back of the van, and Francis's eyes followed. A small smile came to his lips, and he closed his eyes again.

Arthur listened as his breaths evened out and his shoulders slumped. He heard a loud rumbling noise.

"If we were still at home," Alfred began speaking solemnly. "Dad would have already slugged my tummy."

Matthew simply stared out the back of the van. The sun was just rising, and the beautiful colors shone over every nook and cranny of the barren road.

"Mommy's eyes looked like that," Matthew noted.

His younger twin turned towards him, a small frown on his face. "Which mommy?"

"Peter's." He thought for a moment. "I wonder where she went… I hope she didn't leave on purpose like our mommy did."

There was a very long pause.

"N-no, she would n-never do tha-at," Alfred sniffled. Arthur's eyes widened and he almost whipped his head around to see proof. Alfred never cried; even when he was hit by their father, it was more like one quick release of breath.

Peter woke up and rubbed his eyes. A few tears escaped his eyes when he saw Alfred crying, "Mommay?"

This set Matthew off. His cry was more like a little wail that died off in the end, and ended up as silent crying. "I want mommy!"

Francis jolted awake when he heard Matthew crying and immediately located the source of the noise. He opened his door and speed walked around the van. Matthew lifted his arms and was immediately swept into the strong and graceful arms of his eldest brother.

Arthur decided to crawl through the gap between the front seats to reach his little brothers. He couldn't help but realize that most of their "freedom" had been filled with crying.

He petted Alfred's head then went to hold Peter. "How about we go about eating breakfast then, hmm?"

Matthew and Alfred nodded. Peter followed their example. Francis set Matthew on the ground and Alfred followed. Peter climbed out on his own and nearly gave Arthur a heart attack. Francis grabbed the granola bars out of the center console of the van and a blanket from underneath his seat. Arthur reached into his glove compartment and fished out the water bottles.

The boys were clearing a small space of land on the other side of the car, picking up rocks and twigs and throwing them into the field behind them. Francis laid out the blanket while Arthur put the food down atop it.

"Ooh, a picnic!" Peter squealed. As he sat down, Arthur wiped away a few forgotten tears stuck on the little boy's chubby cheeks.

"I'm so hungry!" Alfred smiled and reached for two granola bars once he sat on the picnic blanket. He handed one to Matthew. The two boys sat next to each other.

"I bet you are. Criss-cross applesauce, please," Arthur muttered, and the boys obeyed. Alfred and Matthew had completely opposite metabolisms. Matthew could barely ever finish a meal, due to his extremely slow metabolism. His leftovers were always given to Alfred, whose metabolism was unhealthily fast. Still, both boys remained skinny. "Take one, Peter."

Peter giggled and picked out the dried cherries in his food, handing them off to Arthur, who ate them alongside his own granola bar. Francis seemed to grimace while eating his, but that was probably because of his exquisite fare requirements.

Arthur saw Matthew hand off his granola bar to Alfred with what looked to be around five bites taken out of it. His younger twin wolfed the rest down.

Francis poked holes into the lids of the plastic water bottles to make "sippy cups". He forced the boys to drink half of their bottles, to make sure they stayed hydrated.

"I wanna play a game," Matthew whispered.

Alfred smiled. "Let's do Olympics! Like racing and strength and climbing trees and spelling!"

Francis scoffed. "I mustn't dirty my beautiful 'air." A small flip of said golden locks proved his point."

"Hide n' Seek?" Peter suggested.

"Yes," Arthur nodded. "That sounds just dandy."

"ONETWOTHREE NOSE GOES NOT IT!" Alfred slammed his finger to his nose.

"Not it," Matthew placed his right-hand finger on his nose and his left-hand finger on Kumajirou's. "Kuma's not it either."

"Not it!" Peter giggled as he and Francis declared it at the same time.

"Not i- oh, bother. I guess I'll count then." Arthur turned and pressed his face to the side of the van. He cupped his hands around his eyes and began counting to thirty. "One… two… three…"

He heard several footfalls thudding away.

"Twenty one… twenty two…"

The footsteps faded away.

"Twenty nine… thirty! Ready or not, here I come!"

Arthur searched from his spot for a couple seconds before his ears perked with a new noise. It was someone… counting.

"Thirty five. Thirty six."

The Briton smiled. Peter never could hold back from showing off his counting skills. He followed the tiny voice and saw the little boy hiding behind a bush. The two searched but could not find their brothers.

Suddenly, they caught sight of something running off in the distance.

"Francis!" Peter laughed. Their elder brother was running for his life, being chased by a meerkat. Arthur almost yelled in concern, but thought better, and ignored it. If Francis could manage to enrage a meerkat and end up in a game of cat and mouse, he could get out of the situation.

"Ah!" Arthur was suddenly alert at the short noise of distress. He turned his attention to a tall tree and saw Matthew struggling to catch up to his brother, who had nearly climbed to the top.

Arthur mentally blasphemed himself for ignoring the only tree in about fifty square miles. However, when Peter physically slapped his cheek, he snapped back to attention.

Matthew was hanging off a thin tree branch, and Alfred climbing down to help only managed to shake the tree more. Only five little fingers were holding on now.


End file.
